


Straw From Gold

by mylordshesacactus



Category: RWBY
Genre: Everyone's got trauma, Gen, Missing Scene, post-Before the Dawn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26197951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylordshesacactus/pseuds/mylordshesacactus
Summary: It's not in Vacuo's nature to dwell endlessly on the past. The desert sun burns away all shadows in time. Wounds heal; but the scars inflicted by Reinitiation are still raw and deep.And Xanthe Rumpole, who knows better than anyone the surgeon's skill behind those injuries, is not certain she can undo what's been done.
Relationships: Minor Dew/Nebula, pre-relationship Crosshares if you squint
Comments: 26
Kudos: 71





	Straw From Gold

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't ASK to CARE THIS MUCH about TEAM ABRN but here we all are, SUFFERING.
> 
> Many thanks to Alex for her beta skills and general emotional support on this one.
> 
> ALSO, very exciting milestone: This is officially Fic #100 that I've posted on AO3! So it's kind of fitting that here in the year of our lord two thousand and plague I am here, again, writing CFVY fic, again. What the hell has this franchise DONE TO ME this year, y'all.

“...shown great improvement,” said Professor Sunnybrook, marking something on her scroll as Team SSSN finished celebrating and piled out of the arena. The native Shade team KBXA (Kobicha, led by Kelly Rast, a friendly group but _nowhere_ near tournament-ready) exchanged polite fistbumps with SSSN.

SSSN plus the orphaned Nolan, Coco corrected—so, Team SSSNN in the near future, if the rare five-man band hadn’t been made official already. Good. Whatever her opinion of Sun Wukong’s leadership style...Nolan deserved a team again. If she’d learned anything lately it was that if their ‘thing’ worked for them, then...good. 

She supposed.

“And Mr Wukong, an excellent coordination of Mr. Porfirio’s Semblance with the rest of the team,” Sunnybrook concluded. “Well then! Thank you all for your patience today. I know fully-supervised training days are slow, but it’s an important part of the learning process. We have time for one more bout before your break, and it looks like that should be…” She tapped something on her scroll; a moment later, she announced the results of the randomizer she’d been using to keep the order fair. “Team NDGO! Take the floor and choose an opposing—”

“We’ll take that bracket,” Coco announced loudly.

Sunnybrook raised an eyebrow at being interrupted, but didn’t actually shut Coco down entirely, which Coco counted as a win. Hey—this was Vacuo. If you didn’t act boldly and decisively, you’d never get a chance to regret it. People here respected a girl who knew what she wanted and said so.

Coco missed Professor Goodwitch desperately—but every so often the distinctly Vacuo tendency to stand back and let students test whether their skills matched their cockiness was _v_ _ery_ nice.

“Well, it’s NDGO’s decision,” Sunnybrook warned her. “Miss Violette, there’s been a request.”

Nebula gave a short huff of laughter. “Pretty sure that’s a gauntlet on the floor, Professor. We’re game! Let’s do this.”

Glynda would have given them a stern, pointed warning that this was a _sparring_ match, to keep it clean. Said something arch about settling grudges, probably. 

That wasn’t how they did things in Vacuo.

Coco really was starting to _like_ it here.

 _So what are we thinking?_ asked Fox, as CFVY stood up from their position further back in the bleacher-style seating and casually approached the arena.

Coco twitched her bunnyvision shades slightly higher up her nose, kept her expression neutral, and sent her response back through teamspeak.

Fox’s lips twitched, and a small wrinkle appeared on Yatsuhashi’s overprotective forehead, but other than that, none of them reacted. CFVY were professionals. As it happened, actually, they were the best. And they were about to prove it.

Velvet, walking at the front of the team, stepped out onto the sandy arena.

Coco, Fox, and Yatsuhashi sat down calmly in the front row of the bleachers.

For _some_ reason, Coco thought, the training room went very still.

“Uh,” said Nebula. Behind her, Gwen Darcy and Dew Gayle exchanged a bewildered look and a half-shrug. Octavia Ember, who had seen Velvet in action before, was starting to look appropriately concerned.

Sunnybrook gave the kind of _‘I am so done with this nonsense’_ sigh that CFVY was well used to. “The purpose of this assessment is for NDGO to test themselves as a _team,_ Miss Adel. One-on-one duels in class will begin again next week, or can be arranged during your free time in approved contexts.”

“This is still a team battle,” Coco informed her, voice even. Her shades were too dark to really make eye contact with anyone; but that had never stopped them. Velvet looked over her shoulder and grinned as she somehow caught Coco’s sideways glance. “She’ll be fine.”

Now Nebula was starting to look uncomfortable. _(My heart bleeds,_ commented Fox. _Did we make her uncomfortable? I feel so guilty, Coco. I wonder what it would be like for a classmate to make you feel uncomfortable!)_

 _(Shut up,_ she sent back, _I’m trying to win an argument here.)_

“All right, listen,” said Nebula, glancing around. “I know we’ve had—oh, _come on,_ Adel! I’m not gonna do that! Okay? We don’t want to hurt her.”

Velvet tilted her head, the picture of innocence. “Is that a forfeit?”

Now, finally, Nebula was starting to get angry. _“That_ is _not fair,”_ she snapped. “Go four on one against _Velvet_ or forfeit? If you’ve got something to prove, fine. Come out here and prove it, we’re not playing this game.” 

Behind her team leader, Octavia winced. Her eyes visibly darted to Anesidora, which raised Coco’s estimation of her intelligence.

“All right,” Coco allowed. Look—Nebula, and the rest of NDGO, had said a lot of things over the past few months that could never be unsaid. But ever since the Crown attack...Coco was a reasonable woman, and it was hard to admit you’d been wrong. She was willing to set aside the culture clash, and put the past in the past, and move on stronger together. She was willing to forgive. 

_Forgetting?_ Not gonna happen. 

“You won’t face us unless it’s a fair fight. I can respect that.” It was even the truth. Nebula was a bitch, not a _monster._ And on the surface, being horrified at the image of Velvet standing alone against a tournament-quality team was completely justified. Of course, Nebula had been Velvet’s team leader for almost two months. That she still had that surface-level reaction was _exactly_ why Coco was doing this. “Let’s even the odds. _Arslan!”_

Across the room, leaning against the wall, Arslan raised an eyebrow.

Coco nodded to her, then to the girl sitting cross-legged on the ground next to her. “Can I borrow Reese?” she called, voice light. “Team NDGO could use some backup to make this a fair fight.”

Reese, taken aback, looked up at her leader; but whether Arslan would have been willing to play along for Velvet’s sake or not, Nebula threw her hands in the air before she could respond.

 _“All right,_ that’s _it,”_ she declared. “Fine. Gwen, watch her Aura meter, I don’t want this turning ugly.”

Octavia sighed, wearing the resigned expression of a woman who had accepted her imminent demise with admirable grace.

Sunnybrook looked between the two team leaders. For a long moment, Coco was convinced she was going to refuse the match—but, well, this was Vacuo.

“On your own heads be it,” she told the five girls in the arena. Coco noted the plural with deep satisfaction. NDGO dropped into reluctant ready positions.

Velvet rolled her shoulders, snapped a quick picture of Nebula, and tapped something into her camera—Coco recognized the “rolling generation” gesture, the one that would feed Velvet hard-light copies in an endless feed based on an algorithm analyzing her body position. Then, very calmly, she dropped to one knee.

“Ready,” called Sunnybrook.

“Feel free to quit any time,” Velvet said sweetly.

_“Fight!”_

It was a bloodbath.

Velvet had, of course, known exactly what she was doing. Reese Chloris’ hoverboard sprang into existence under her feet as NDGO—still _just_ hesitant enough to give her the advantage—were raising their weapons. A hard kick from her crouched position activated the hard-light thrusters, catapulting her hard into the air.

She used the momentum to flip high over NDGO’s heads. So fast Coco nearly missed it, halfway through the arc she tapped the hoverboard to draw Reese’s twin pistols, and had put three shots into the back of Nebula’s head before she landed in a crouch again.

Gwen Darcy reacted even faster, and the wall of throwing knives that whistled through the air might have been a serious problem; but even as Velvet landed, brilliant light sketched the elegant outline of an anchor…

A perfect copy of Dew’s spear slammed hard into the floor, activating the copied Dust crystal to send a wave of intense wind rushing in every direction, a tornado set free; the knives scattered in all directions, forcing Dew herself to dive out of the way and ruining the line she’d nearly had on Velvet’s back.

Coco shook off a split second of disorientation. They’d never seen Dew use that kind of forceful landing, but something about Velvet’s stance, the deceptively graceful economy of movement, for just a moment it had been _Pyrrha_ —

Velvet was on her feet already, spinning and closing with Dew while she was still unbalanced. Dew, without time to whip up any tornados of her own, raised her own spear to block Velvet’s—and her Aura flashed violently as Fulcrum crashed down against the block instead, its simulated weight whipped around with deadly force. Dew staggered back; Velvet let the sword dissolve and dropped, kicking her behind the knees so that she fell backward—with her head and shoulders outside the arena.

Ringout. Sunnybrook tapped a buzzer.

Coco sat forward, concerned for the first time. Now Velvet _was_ in trouble; she’d gone all-in on eliminating Dew and overextended, created too much distance between herself and the remains of NDGO; Nebula had recovered from that first attack, Gwen and Octavia were unaffected, and worse, Velvet had her back to them. In real combat she was used to having the rest of CFVY to guard her back, but still.

 _Velvet!_ she snapped in teamspeak. _Stay focused—_

Even as she thought the words, Gianduja roared in searing skeletal light.

 _I didn’t send that,_ Fox informed her, his incorporeal voice sounding smug. _Quit backseat driving, this was your idea._

Velvet was still crouched on the floor, one leg extended from taking out Dew; she’d summoned Coco’s minigun facing backwards, tucked under one arm; the next round of throwing knives scattered off the main body of the gun, and Nebula’s crossbow bolt went wild as she was forced to throw herself out of the path of destruction. Gwen was less lucky; the echo of Gianduja took her center mass, completely exposed mid-throw. 

“I’ve never done that,” murmured Coco under her breath. “She would have had to program the algorithm to recognize it as a move herself…”

Yatsuhashi elbowed her to shut up and let him watch.

Velvet dismissed the minigun with—to anyone familiar with Anesidora’s limits—a sharp, sudden movement; Gwen’s Aura had dropped like a stone under the assault and was in danger of breaking entirely.

Two down.

Nebula and Octavia exchanged a look in the brief stutter between weapons.

 _“Get her!”_ called Nebula, too late.

Velvet spun; Nadir Shiko’s submachine gun barked as she charged and rolled under Nebula’s next shot, Octavia’s wave of fire. Octavia was faster than anyone on sand, managed to close to melee range as Velvet rose, Sage’s massive zweihander coming up to meet her, but it was a feint. The sword vanished into nothing as Octavia put her full weight behind the counterblow. The air just barely flickered as Velvet dropped to her back as easy as falling asleep; a ghostly copy of Arslan’s rope dart that flew around Octavia’s ankles in passing.

It was over. Octavia whiplashed into her leader at full speed. Velvet completed her backwards somersault and was back on her feet with Ruyi and Jingu Bang already firing; Octavia alone had kept hold of her weapon and managed to deflect the shots, but a flick of Velvet’s wrists and a twisting leap brought the reconnected bo staff down hard on the flamberge, knocking it out of reach.

Octavia held up her hands in frantic surrender; Velvet dropped to the sand on her knees, pointed a hard-light copy of Nebula’s own crossbow into her face at point-blank range, and waited.

Nebula, eyes wide, panted incredulously for several long seconds.

“...We yield,” she called, voice dazed but clear.

From start to finish, it had taken about fourteen seconds.

“Match to...Team CFVY,” said Sunnybrook as Coco, Fox, and Yatsu surged to their feet to congratulate Velvet. “Remember what I told you last week about diversifying your martial arts styles to something other than their traditional weapon, Miss Scarlatina. But that was very well done.”

“Thank you,” said Velvet, flushed from more than just the exertion. Ears twitching at being in the center of attention, she offered Nebula a hand up, which—to Nebula’s credit—was accepted without hesitation.

Nebula was still staring openly, with what Coco considered the appropriate mixture of horror, chagrin, and retroactive terror as she realized exactly what kind of leviathan she’d been casually poking. Good.

Coco slung an arm around Velvet’s shoulders. “Have fun?”

Velvet blushed properly. “A little. I hope Gwen isn’t hurt…”

“She’s fine,” Fox said bracingly—and out loud, for NDGO’s benefit. “She’s a Huntress, Velvet, she’s as tough as you are, come on.” 

Yatsu picked her up off her feet and into a bear hug. “That was _brilliant!”_

Coco didn’t bother repressing her smile as Velvet grinned and shocked conversation started to flare up all across the room. A glance over toward ABRN’s usual spot showed that even Arslan, who had seen what Velvet could do, had her eyebrows raised; she inclined her head with clear approval in Coco’s direction as she leaned closer to Bolin Hori. Whatever she said to him, they both glanced at each other and grinned.

“Nice job,” Coco told Velvet one more time, before turning to where a shell-shocked NDGO was regrouping nearby. “Hey. Nebula.”

She got wary looks in response, but all she did was flick her shades up and hold out her hand.

“Thanks for being a good sport,” she said simply. “It’s been a long time since Velvet got to let loose like that when nobody’s lives depended on it.”

After a long moment in which she was clearly waiting for the sting in the tail, Nebula slowly took Coco’s hand and shook, once.

“I’d say ‘any time,’” she said with a weak grin, “But I think next time I’ll take you up on the reinforcements.”

Coco grinned, but countered, “Maybe next time we’ll double up. CFVY and NDGO versus ABRN and whoever you like.”

Nebula hesitated, then gave a genuine smile. “Maybe we will. Plan on next Saturday after dinner.”

Coco shook her head. “Friday, we have plans on Saturday.”

“Friday won’t work, we’re in a later class bracket to make room for—”

“Rumpole!” called Professor Sunnybrook. Everyone looked up with varying degrees of wariness, which...Coco couldn’t blame them for, but she still felt bad for Rumpole. “What can we do for you?”

Rumpole shook her head. She looked tired, but calm. “Nothing urgent. Am I interrupting?”

“Class was just dismissed. Rather earlier than anyone anticipated, as it happens.”

“I saw. _Very_ well done, Miss Scarlatina. I can see your leader’s consistent faith in you is not misplaced.” 

If Velvet blushed any harder, she would start attracting native Vacuoans making concerned noises about sunburns and heatstroke. Rumpole smiled at her, and then turned to the small group still standing around the arena.

“Miss Violette,” she said, something in her voice that made Nebula tense. “If I could speak to you for a moment.”

* * *

* * *

Coco frowned in concentration, carefully tracing a precision angle in her notebook.

With the fiasco that was Reinitiation and the chaos of the Crown attack, _everyone_ had fallen badly behind in their classwork. But this was Vacuo; there would be no pity points for losing ground due to adversity. And Coco _refused_ to let her grades slip in Mechanics & Design.

If she was lucky, the desert combat gear designs she was putting together for CFVY might net her some extra credit. And if they did, she was going to make damn sure Velvet got her fair share as well, for Bunnyvision.

Something about this sketch looked wrong. Unable to figure it out by sight, Coco firmly, thoroughly erased the bad line and began calculating it again from scratch rather than risk missing something.

“You seem to have lost a decimal point,” said Professor Rumpole over her shoulder.

Coco jumped violently and immediately cursed herself for it; what kind of impression did that make? Nearby, lounging in the shade of the Academy gardens playing some kind of endless runner on her scroll, Velvet looked up in surprise as well. Yatsuhashi opened his eyes and shifted out of his meditative position to put his elbows on his knees, dislodging Velvet’s head from his thigh.

 _Heads up,_ Fox sent belatedly.

Coco rolled her eyes. _Thanks._

“Thanks,” she said to Rumpole, with significantly less sarcasm. She couldn’t see the missing decimal point in her diagram, but she knew what to look for now. “I’ll go back through and find it. Is there something CFVY can do for you, Professor?”

“A moment of your time, Miss Adel. Let’s not disturb your teammates. All of you have more than earned some rest.”

Ignoring this, the others got to their feet.

“Is something wrong?”

Rumpole held up a hand, smiling at Velvet. “I need to speak to Coco as a team leader. We won’t be long.”

Fox went back to lying facedown in the gravel, which Coco really hoped was a Vacuo thing. Yatsu and Velvet sat back down more reluctantly, but Coco was already on her feet with her notes tucked away. That sounded important, and she was generally against making Rumpole wait for her.

But Rumpole didn’t appear to be in any particular hurry. She led Coco out of the gardens and along a pathway overlooking the city. The sun was setting over the desert, staining it in shades of purple and orange Coco had never seen before—didn’t even have names for. They paused there, and Coco managed to keep her impatience under control.

“How are you holding up?” Rumpole asked finally. “Your team, but _you_ as well.” 

Coco considered it. “I think we’re adjusting,” she reported. “We’ve learned a lot about Vacuo’s culture and how to fit into it without losing our own. We’re keeping things that are important to us and adapting the rest. The native Vacuo teams are starting to understand us better as well, which is helping. We’re just about back to baseline in training and schoolwork—”

“Coco,” Rumpole chided quietly.

Coco blinked, pushing up her shades to meet her mentor’s firm, patient expression.

“...We’re fine,” she said after a moment. “Really. Yatsu’s safe, Velvet _finally_ understands that she’s our secret weapon. I know Fox is really happy that he’s not being treated like an outsider anymore. _I’m_ just glad to have my team back.” She stopped there, but Rumpole was still waiting, so Coco added, “My family.”

Rumpole inclined her head, turning to lean against the railing and looking out over the city, eyes weary. 

“As you likely guessed,” she said, “it falls to me to debrief team leaders following...recent events, while I was under the influence of the Crown. Given how instrumental you and your team—both of your teams, as it happens—were in revealing and foiling that attack, I think you deserve to be the first name on that list.”

That was exactly what Coco had guessed, of course. “Thank you. Ask me anything, Professor.”

Not wasting time—like usual—Rumpole said bluntly, “You realize where you went wrong, of course.”

Coco had been prepared for this from the word ‘debrief’. She’d already written a report of her version of events, all the team leaders had; but there’d need to be a personal interview as well. “Of course.”

“Enlighten me.”

“I let myself get too wrapped up in my own problems,” she said immediately. “I should have made keeping in contact with my team a priority. I _definitely_ should have gotten over myself and talked to Reese about team leadership and cleared the air.”

“Mmm,” said Rumpole. “The existence of Team ROSC served two purposes, of course. First and foremost was simply to separate you from your team; left directionless they would be less of a threat. And placing you under the command of an insecure and indecisive leader was bound to leave you frustrated and resentful.”

“Which weakened my ability to actually bond with the team, which meant I couldn’t coordinate with them properly,” Coco concluded, ruthless. “That’s my fault. I should have stepped up, but I did exactly what I criticized Reese for, and I have less excuse than she does because I understand what being a team leader means. I just accepted a situation I knew wasn’t working, instead of talking with the people who needed me and figuring out how to fix it.”

“Yes,” acknowledged Rumpole. “Though I’m obligated to point out that you _were_ being intentionally sabotaged and run ragged by someone who is—if I do say so myself—older, wiser, and significantly more talented in that area than you are.”

Coco shook her head firmly and settled her shades back into place. “I still fell for it.”

She thought Rumpole approved of that. “What else did you do wrong?”

Coco blinked. “I...lost sight of the real objective. The Crown. Knowing another Huntress—I mean, a full Huntress—was investigating shouldn’t have been enough, I should have at least made sure I still knew what was happening. Sun and Velvet wouldn’t have been isolated, Yatsuhashi wouldn’t have had to go after them—none of us could share everything we knew with the others because I was too distracted with my own problems to keep my mind on completing the mission. If I’d been thinking clearly I would have—”

“Miss Adel,” said Rumpole. “I didn’t ask for a litany of the symptoms of being stressed, isolated, and inexperienced. What was your single, _glaring_ failure as a leader during this entire fiasco?”

Coco tried not to bristle at that, thinking critically. Considering Rumpole had been brainwashed for the whole thing, she thought _she_ was being fairly mature in taking responsibility for her own mistakes. And she _had_ failed to adapt to the situation, but—Rumpole was right, that was a _personal_ failure...

Rumpole closed her eyes and gave a long, weary sigh.

“Coco,” she said, voice soft and deadly serious. “From the moment Fox Alistair identified my Aura signature amongst hostile Huntsmen associated with the Crown, _you should have treated me as a potential collaborator.”_

Coco took half a step back, incredulous and a little annoyed. What, was she supposed to be a mind reader?

 _“Why?”_ she demanded. “That’s a _hell_ of a leap, Professor, no offense. Nobody knew the Crown could actually _brainwash_ people yet. The logical conclusion was that you were doing your job and we should stay out of your way, especially since we’re just students and trying to interfere could have ruined a sting. We already knew you were investigating them—”

“No,” Rumpole corrected shortly. “What you knew is that I had _told you_ I was investigating them.”

Coco held up a finger. 

_“Fuck.”_

Rumpole’s lips twitched.

“I don’t blame you for not instantly figuring out the nature of the Crown the moment you knew I was near their base of operations, Coco,” she said. “That would be ridiculous. But a more experienced Huntress would have, at the very least, considered the _possibility_ that I was compromised and operated under that assumption. For that matter, you've allowed yourself to be isolated from your team and alone with me, and I might very well have been lying about my status as an unwilling victim.”

“I’m not sure I agree with you,” Coco insisted. “That sounds like paranoia. You have a perfect service history as a Huntress, you have decades of dedication to Shade and its students, why would we suddenly assume you could be a traitor?”

Rumpole looked at her for a long time.

“Anyone can turn, Miss Adel,” she said finally. “If you’ve yet to ask yourself why there were so few full Huntsmen and Huntresses available that Haven Academy nearly fell without Adam Taurus’ White Fang firing a shot, then perhaps it’s high time you started.”

Coco wasn’t sure what to say to that. After a moment, Rumpole continued.

“You are, and I mean this sincerely, one of the most promising young Huntresses I have seen in a very long time,” she said frankly, while Coco tried not to let that go _straight_ to her head. It was easier said than done. “You’re intelligent and insightful and that’s going to get you killed someday, because you are nowhere _near_ as smart as you think you are.”

And just like that, Coco’s ego was back to normal. Which some people would still consider a little much.

“There were warning signs,” Rumpole told her, not unkindly but not sugar-coating it either, which Coco honestly appreciated. “You knew that Team CFVY was being prevented from speaking to anyone in authority about your concerns. It was obvious to everyone that the Reinitiation teams I openly suggested and assigned were not only worthless, but actively harming the student body’s ability to function. You yourself were intentionally kept far from the city and overworked. You _knew_ I was stoking cruelty toward outsiders, your Velvet in particular—what better way to weaken the only team with working knowledge of the Crown than by striking at its heart?”

“We thought—” Coco began, then cut herself off. She had been thinking all of that at the time—but every time she’d justified it, written it off as accidental or made with good intentions...because it was Rumpole doing it, and she respected Rumpole. “Right.”

“Miss Adel,” Rumpole said, pain in her eyes. “I spent months using every opportunity to subtly and unsubtly create an environment of hostility and separation. Not knowing the Crown’s identities or motivations, of course you had no way to see those red flags as the clues they were. But they existed, and should have been enough to at the very least make you re-evaluate your assessment of my character.”

“I did,” Coco protested. She’d certainly stopped liking Rumpole, and jettisoned almost all her respect for the woman, after Velvet and Nebula’s disgusting 1v1. But she understood the point being made. “But...only on a personal level. I should have taken that train of thought further.”

“You mentioned my changes to the History curriculum yourself,” Rumpole pointed out. “For a moment I genuinely believed you had seen through me. I would not have been surprised.”

And there went her ego soaring again; but only for a moment. “You’re right, I missed how anti-outsider it had suddenly become. I know I can’t blame myself for not connecting the rhetoric to the disappearances when there was no obvious tie, but…”

“Your conclusions are almost always right,” said Rumpole. “Your assumptions will usually pan out. Your snap judgements and analyses of a person’s character will usually be correct. You’ve put a lot of time and energy into honing those skills, as you should. But if you want to grow as a leader, Coco—learn to account more thoroughly for the fact that sometimes, inevitably, you will be _dead wrong.”_

Drawing herself up, Coco nodded seriously. “I will. Thank you.”

“And don’t beat yourself up too badly,” Rumpole ordered her. “You’ve been through more than ten average people could _survive,_ and you and your team are bearing up exceptionally well. Learn from this and use it to grow, rather than doubt yourself. Do not mistake me— _nothing_ that happened is your fault. I’m telling you these things because I want you to have the tools to keep yourself safe in the future. Even, and perhaps especially, from me.” She sighed heavily. “Meanwhile, I have a very long meeting with the Headmaster.”

“About the Crown?” asked Coco, interested.

“Nothing so cheerful.” Rumpole’s expression was dark. “Theodore and I need to have _several_ long-overdue conversations on the subject of how in the world I was able to teach blatant monarcho-revanchist propaganda in my classroom for _months_ without censure. To say nothing of his allowing, even encouraging, me to retraumatize newcomers, sabotage team structures, and outright bully students.”

...Okay, well, when she put it that way.

“I realize he’s busy,” she continued. “But it’s a bit ridiculous to be so involved with your duties as Headmaster that you don’t have time to run your school.”

“Good luck with that,” said Coco, who wasn’t optimistic about Rumpole’s chances. “Oh, hey, Professor. Now that you’re...back...a while ago I submitted a proposal. Team CFVY _did_ defeat two rogue Huntsmen and kill a Blind Worm on foot, and I don’t think extra credit is too much to ask. Have you had a chance to look at—”

“My,” said Rumpole, pulling up one sleeve to examine her bare wrist. “Would you look at the time.”

* * *

Reese kicked her hoverboard hard across the room.

Unfortunately there wasn’t much space for it to go. Shade Academy dorms were cramped, especially since half of them had been hastily retrofit to make room for the “transfer” students. The board surged an unsatisfying three feet across the floor, bounced off Scarlet’s bedpost, and ricocheted right back into Reese’s ankle.

 _“OW!_ Fuck!”

Gritting her teeth and gripping her ankle, she hopped on one foot until she tripped over Olive’s duffel bag and fell heavily into Coco’s bed.

Another thing for Coco to get mad at her for, probably. Perfect. That was _exactly_ what Reese needed right now.

She was _trying,_ okay?

After a few seconds her eyes stopped watering from the pain in her ankle. To her horror, she realized her vision was still blurry with tears, and wiped them away as fast as she could.

“I don’t know what I’m _doing!”_ she told the empty room. Like that wasn’t obvious already.

Their first few training sessions had been unmitigated disasters, and everything had gone downhill from there. Reese knew what she was supposed to be doing, but she didn’t know...how. Identify the strengths and weaknesses of her team, build them up, direct them to complement each other.

It wasn’t like she’d ever thought leadership sounded _easy,_ that’s why she hadn’t ever wanted to do it! But she was pretty sure it wasn’t meant to be this hard. 

Fingers moving too jerkily with anger to manage anything useful, Reese fumbled the straps of her knee guards three times before finally managing to get one free. She threw it after her hoverboard in retaliation.

It wasn’t like there’d been a _class!_ There hadn’t even been, like, a pamphlet or something! How was she supposed to learn how to be a team leader if no one would teach her? She was supposed to just _already be good at it,_ without being told how? She was supposed to just _know?_

Arslan had.

Arslan had always just...known what to do. She hadn’t fumbled around making a jackass out of herself and messing everything up, she’d never gotten the rest of ABRN so pissed off at her incompetence that they left training in different directions and wouldn’t talk to her. Arslan didn’t have incompetence to get pissed off at in the first place.

Reese didn’t have that sixth sense ABRN had always relied on. She couldn’t look at a situation and just know what to do without having to think. Well—she _could,_ sure. But only for herself, _maybe_ herself and one other person. She was the one who’d thought to work on a variation of the move Team RWBY had used in the Vytal Festival to take them out, after all! Her and Arslan could recreate something nearly as effective now. 

But she’d workshopped that _by bringing it to Arslan._ And coordinating herself _and_ three other people _and_ having to account for civilians or property damage...

Reese was trying, and it wasn’t...enough.

And what did that even say about her?

Reese was supposed to be a Huntress. In the field, a real Huntress had to be able to work solo, or with ragtag groups. And a real Huntress had to be able to act as a leader, didn’t she? Wasn’t that the whole point, that you could call a Huntress and have them come in and be a trained professional who knew how to _do things?_

She’d managed to get most of her gear off, at least. She’d clean it in—a minute. Just. One minute.

Without thinking she’d pulled out her scroll. Olive, Scarlet, and Coco’s faces popped up as her default comm page, and she swiped past it so hard she nearly scratched the screen. Gods knew “her” team didn’t want to talk to her right now. 

ABRN had been wiped from her scroll before she’d even known she was going to lose them; she’d looked on the airship en route to Reinitiation and found her team comm blank already, remotely scrubbed by Shade’s computer records. But she’d gone back through and put them on a list together, which probably wasn’t allowed, but Reese was pretty certain she wasn’t the only one doing it.

Or maybe she was, because most Huntresses in training weren’t completely useless at their jobs.

She’d tried to be Arslan, and she couldn’t. So she’d tried to...reassess. Coco had given her that advice, actually. To stop trying to be a leader she wasn’t and focus on what she _could_ do, and the kind of leadership that felt natural to her. So she was trying to do the things that felt right. She was good at getting to know people, so she’d mostly been trying to get the others to make suggestions. Putting things to a vote, trying to be...self-aware, or something.

And that just seemed to be making everyone more frustrated. The only one who hadn’t openly given up on her as a leader was Scarlet, and that was just because he was using the fact that she existed to spite Sun.

Which, seriously, ‘even _Reese_ is better than _you’_ didn’t feel great. He wasn’t wrong, though.

He really, really wasn’t wrong.

Reese’s thumb hovered over Arslan’s smiling picture.

It would be so easy. It would mean so much just to hear her voice right now. 

But what was she supposed to say? _Hey, Arslan, you’re the best team leader I’ve ever met, which I’m sure isn’t a sore spot right now since they’re making you answer to Nebula Violette, can you tell me about it in detail with no warning?_

_Hey, Arslan, just wanted to say I didn’t learn anything from watching you and it turns out I’ve just been coasting on having you around to give me orders this whole time and assuming you’d do it forever so I’m having an existential crisis—_

_Hey, Arslan, I know you’re in an awful situation right now and it’s not your fault, but I’m in a way less awful situation that’s completely my fault, could you take a few hours out of your exhausting schedule to make me feel better?_

Reese suddenly had difficulty swallowing.

ABRN had never been good enough to deserve their leader. Well—Bolin was. But Reese and Nadir knew they were the weak links in that chain. Arslan made them forget it, most of the time, but—

Arslan wasn’t here anymore.

At least she had Velvet, Reese thought glumly. Velvet was quiet and sweet but _wicked_ smart, and the entire Beacon Brigade knew exactly how good she was. So even if they were stuck with half of NDGO, at least Arslan had someone who was on her level. Probably a lot less annoying.

_Hey, Arslan. I miss you._

_I miss you and I don’t know what to do and I’m scared this will be forever and—_

Reese buried her head in her arms and gave up on trying not to cry.

* * *

Xanthe Rumpole was about six feet from knocking on ABRN’s door when it flew open of its own accord.

_“Traitor!”_

Bolin Hori stumbled back against the wall with Nadir Shiko lunging after him, throwing him into a headlock. In one of Bolin’s hands was a brightly-colored metallic bag—a brand of Mistrali fruit gummies, difficult to find in Vacuo _before_ the Fall of Beacon disrupted shipments. They were only ever stocked in specialty ‘foreign’ stores or, if you were lucky, in region-specific half-aisles at very large grocery chains.

“Thief!” said Nadir, grinning as he wrestled his teammate. “Give that back!”

 _“Death first!”_ called Bolin through laughter.

_“So be it!”_

Bolin managed to throw off his attacker, twisting him around in an expert armlock with the stolen candy held between his teeth; Rumpole crossed her arms and assessed their form, waiting to see who would come out on top. Hori was the inevitable winner, here—Nadir Shiko was ranged support, and no student who qualified for the Vytal Festival with no weapon but an unadorned staff could be anything but a deadly hand-to-hand fighter.

Before either could claim victory, however, their team leader appeared in the doorway.

“Bolin. Give it back.”

Bolin groaned loudly but released his captive without hesitation. “I had him!” he complained, handing Nadir the candy bag.

Arslan rolled her eyes good-naturedly, shaking her head at them both. Nadir, crowing at having Arslan on his side, pointed at his prize and said, “Mine,” then turned and strutted back into their reclaimed dormitory.

Arslan raised a hand, planted it firmly over his face, and shoved, grabbing his left wrist halfway through the motion and flipping him neatly head-over-heels. She plucked the bag from his fingers, tucked it down her robe, and smirked, taking a stance in the doorway and twitching three fingers in a taunting come-hither motion.

_“Ack!”_

Reese Chloris cackled, clinging to Arslan’s back. “I’ve got her, Bolin!” Arslan threw her weight back against the wall, but Reese caught the impact on one shoulder and didn’t waver. “Say uncle!”

“Et tu?” exclaimed Nadir, dodging backward and forward to find a nonexistent opening. “Arslan, the fact that you’re better than us means this is _clearly_ cheating—” 

“Surrender and I’ll spare your life,” Arslan informed Bolin.

Bolin grinned; the two felt each other out with practiced ease, stalking back and forth like lions. Arslan was _completely_ ignoring Reese’s attempts to pull her off-balance.

“Big words, boss.” He bounced on the balls of his feet. “Reese!”

Reese, gripping Arslan around the waist with her knees, whipped off her sweatshirt and gleefully threw it over Arslan’s head as Bolin charged. Two seconds later Bolin was pinned against the wall and Reese, at some unseen twisting motion, was sent flying down the hallway.

Rumpole reached out and grabbed the back of her belt, catching her just before she fell.

“Aaaah,” said Reese, mind finally catching up to her flailing body.

“Miss Chloris,” said Rumpole, deeply amused. “If you’re not too busy and can spare about thirty minutes, I’ve yet to sit down with you and discuss recent events—especially the aftereffects of your time on Team ROSC.”

Reese’s face fell, her good mood visibly dropping like a stone.

“Right,” she said, instantly subdued. “Arslan and Bolin said you probably would. Right now?”

“We can schedule an appointment if now is a bad time.”

Arslan, fixing Rumpole with a steady look that said she remembered her own debriefing, placed a hand on her teammate’s shoulder; but Reese slumped and shrugged it off.

“No,” she decided. “It’s...fine. It’s better than waiting.”

Reese Chloris didn’t quite drag her feet; but her shoulders were hunched and her eyes downcast as she silently followed Rumpole down several flights of stairs. Rumpole unlocked an empty classroom, stepping back to wave Reese ahead of her.

Shoulders growing impossibly tenser, Reese walked inside like she was heading to her own execution.

Rumpole winced slightly behind the girl’s back. _Beautiful work, Xanthe. Look at her._

Reese hopped up onto the desk, feet dangling glumly, as Rumpole closed the door behind them.

“Miss Chloris,” she began.

Reese cut her off. “I know,” she said. “Okay? I sucked. If Coco hadn’t gotten sick of it and taken over we all would have died. I know I did everything wrong. I’m no good without someone to tell me what to do, and a Huntress has to be flexible, and I won’t always have Arslan or Coco around to save me from myself, and I need to learn how to take initiative. I _know._ You can’t make me feel worse.”

Rumpole waited for her to finish.

“Miss Chloris,” she said again, softly. “I am...so, incredibly sorry.”

Reese looked up, taken aback. “What? I mean—what?” 

Rumpole gave her a sad smile. “All I can say in my own defense,” she said, “is that I was not in my right mind. Outside of the direct influence of a powerful telepathic Semblance, I would never have harmed you the way I did.”

If she’d intended that as comfort, it didn’t work at all. Reese’s eyes shimmered worryingly, and her gaze slipped away, unable to hold Rumpole’s for long.

“Reese,” said Rumpole, trying to draw her back. “Placing you in charge of ROSC was an act of intentional cruelty—”

“Because you knew I’d suck,” muttered Reese.

A raised eyebrow. “I sincerely doubt _anyone_ would put in a good showing as leader if they were required to wrangle an irritated Coco Adel. Given a different team, one not calculated to fail, you might very well have grown into the position.”

Reese brushed the comment off. “Coco listens to—Arslan, or some of the Beacon teams before the Fall. Because she respects them. You were designing bad teams and you put me in charge because you knew I’d be bad at it no matter what happened.”

“Yes,” said Rumpole, who was beginning to suspect sympathy was not one of her greatest strengths but firmly believed her students deserved complete honesty—especially now, especially from her. “What of it?” 

Several teams, BYRN chief among them, had been intended solely to ensure that powerhouse teams like CFVY and ABRN were thoroughly separated; but ROSC’s members had been set up to _break._ Reese deserved to know that, to realize how utterly out of her control the situation had been. How little blame could possibly be laid at her feet.

At Reese’s incredulous, hurt expression, Rumpole said, “I made you the leader of that team for the same reason I placed Coco Adel—and Arslan Altan, for the record—in the position of subordinates. I knew they were poorly suited for it.”

Reese’s expression was wary.

“That’s not the same thing,” she said, arms crossed tight against her stomach. “They were bad at following because they knew they were _better._ I wasn’t good enough, okay? I’m a big girl, I can handle the truth.”

Rumpole considered this. After a long silence, she crossed the room, braced her palms against the desk, and leveraged herself up beside Reese.

“Miss Chloris,” she said. “Are you under the impression that being a leader is a question of...some objective measure of overall skill? Being a Huntress, but better?”

“Arslan—” 

“Is a phenomenally talented young Huntress, grounded, intelligent, fiercely moral, deeply courageous, compassionate on a level that shames many Huntsmen decades her senior. And a natural leader. The latter has nothing to do with the former. I could apply all of those descriptors to you just as easily, save for one.”

Reese flushed, but the praise only seemed to make her feel worse. “I know leadership’s a skill,” she muttered. “I could learn it if I tried hard enough.”

Rumpole shrugged. “Singing is a skill as well. I could have learned it, if I applied myself; any of your classmates who were present at the solstice party the year before last can confirm to you that I did not. Meanwhile I became rather skilled at weaving, if I do say so myself, without ever intentionally trying at all. For a more relevant example, Reese, my swordplay is abysmal. Were I ever in a situation where I had to scavenge for weapons and only blades were available, I would be in very real trouble.”

“That’s still different!”

“Is it?” Rumpole shrugged. “If you insist. You might try talking to more city-defense officers, clan and tribal mayors. Or your friend Miss Adel, for that matter. You might find that a Huntress who’s willing and able to identify a competent leader, accept that they know best, and follow their lead to fill whatever role is necessary without wasting time in a pointless struggle over _who’s in charge_ is frequently—and I say this with intimate knowledge of what it means—worth her weight in gold.”

Reese didn’t respond to that; but for the first time, she didn’t look crushed beneath her own misery.

Rumpole idly examined the heavy lining of her coat.

“I wonder,” she mused out loud, “how that Deathstalker battle might have ended, out in the desert, if you were less of a natural support player.”

“A real leader would have come up a plan herself,” said Reese. “I mean, she _did,_ Coco was the one who saved us all.” 

“And if you were more inclined to take charge?” proposed Rumpole. “If you were too proud to take orders? So determined to prove you didn’t need to be led that you refused to follow? I’m asking what would have happened had you stopped to argue with her.”

Reese winced.

“You see my point.”

Reese rested her elbows on her knees, starting to hold her head up properly again.

Rumpole...ached. Reese Chloris had always been bright, even playful—lighthearted and upbeat even in combat. But with a steadiness about her—she could be _cheerful_ without being _loud_ or disruptive, which Rumpole appreciated after several decades of teaching. The point was that Reese, upon arrival to Shade and despite everything ABRN had been through, was outgoing and perfectly confident.

And Xanthe Rumpole had come very close to destroying that. The insecurities she’d forced on Reese since the Reinitiation would take years to fully undo, now. Knowing she’d been mind-controlled at the time didn’t make that easier to live with.

“Miss Chloris,” she said, quiet, gentler than she’d heard her own voice in years. “You did not abuse your authority to cover your insecurities. You acknowledged that you did not have all the answers. You did not let a lack of self-awareness or a need to prove your own correctness interfere with your judgement, or allow pride to place yourself or your team in danger. _You have done nothing wrong.”_

Reese looked away again, blinking rapidly; after a minute she swallowed, and nodded at the floor.

Rumpole placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder and squeezed once.

“There is no shame in acknowledging that you are not the best person for every job in every circumstance,” she said. “The woman who tried to make you believe that was afraid of what you could do exactly as you are.”

* * *

Arslan leaned back against the stone wall and regarded Professor Rumpole evenly.

“Apology accepted,” she said.

Rumpole inclined her head. “Gracious of you.”

“It would be unfair to blame you for your actions while under the control of the Crown,” Arslan replied. That much was a simple calculation; Rumpole was no more responsible for the damage she had caused than Yatsuhashi Daichi. “You were also a victim.”

Rumpole gave a sigh, looking troubled. “Whether or not something is _true_ can have very little effect on how we react to it. This Crown debacle proved that handily enough.”

Arslan hesitated; but it seemed worth saying. “I admit that it will likely be...a while, before I’m comfortable around you. I realize that’s also unfair; but people I care about suffered greatly at the hands of a woman wearing your face.”

Reese had been hit hardest of Team ABRN. More than any of them, she had been...clingy, for the past few weeks. Jumpy and insecure and never more than arm’s length from Arslan, which was concerningly out of character. 

Of course it made sense. Reese had been given a worse hand to play with—not suited for leadership and thus insecure beside Coco, who was; Olive, who was good-natured and patient and deserved better; and Scarlet David, who frankly was so bitter at his old leader and so unwilling to consider any kind of pain associated with teams being torn apart that Arslan was surprised Coco hadn’t broken his nose. 

Nadir’s team had been inoffensive and ineffectual, such a forgettable arrangement that Arslan couldn’t even recall the acronym; Bolin had been a perfectly acceptable leader for the temporary Team BYRN, lucky enough to have Yatsuhashi to shore him up. _They_ had suffered from lack of connection and motivation, rather than genuine incompatibility.

“I’d expect nothing less,” said Rumpole. “And you?”

Arslan braced one foot against the wall. This section of the courtyard had been in shadow for hours, but the stone was still warm; nearly hot but not quite, just on the right side of uncomfortable. It rasped against her skin like sandpaper.

“Relieved to have ABRN back,” she answered.

Rumpole smiled. At least, she made an expression similar to a smile. “As you can imagine, placing one natural team leader under the command of another was an entirely intentional act of sabotage.”

That she could say that so calmly was, Arslan thought, unsettling. Of course there was no reason she shouldn’t—but it made it difficult to have faith in her.

“There was a clash of personalities,” Arslan agreed with calm she did not feel.

“Mmm. From what I’ve seen, Miss Violette seems to have changed her ways.”

Arslan did not say any of the things she was thinking.

“I don’t believe Nebula Violette was always as hateful as she has behaved in the past months. I’m aware she was being manipulated, and I wish her the best going forward.”

Rumpole raised an eyebrow.

“I’m glad to hear that,” she said, voice carefully neutral. “It’s good to know you don’t resent the disbanding of NOVA so soon after having come to an understanding with Nebula. She and Octavia are two of Shade’s top students. And of course Miss Scarlatina is an unparalleled powerhouse. You’re a difficult young woman to keep up with in the field, but the three of them come about as close as anyone could.”

Arslan—

Took a long, deep breath through her nose, and let it out very slowly. She repeated this until she lost count, until she stopped seeing red. It wasn’t the first time it had been implied, or outright stated, that a fighter of Arslan’s caliber ‘deserved a better team’. As if she didn’t depend utterly on Nadir’s good-natured practicality, Reese and her cheeky, reckless courage...

“Had Team NOVA existed for another week,” she said, unnaturally serene, allowing no emotion in her voice, “Nebula Violette would have suffered a tragic accident a very long way into the desert.”

Rumpole’s expression, Arslan realized belatedly, was entirely too knowing.

“I know,” she said quietly. “I made certain of it. Miss Altan, I am very good at my job. You say the sabotage carried out while I was under the Crown’s influence was a woman wearing my face; I only wish that were true. I was not _controlled;_ I was made to believe in the cause of the Crown, and acted accordingly. I was myself, with all of my powers of observation and persuasion.”

“You have a strange method of building confidence in others,” Arslan observed.

Rumpole didn’t take the bait. “I’m a teacher. I know how to tell a student’s weak points and their strengths. I know how to set up situations that highlight those strengths, take advantage of them.”

Arslan had not forgiven the dig at ABRN; but she recognized what Rumpole had just done, and was at least able to recognize that the insult hadn’t been genuine. And was, she acknowledged, a perfect demonstration of exactly what Rumpole was talking about. She’d exploited Arslan’s loyalty, and managed to do so even while telling her _to her face_ what was being done.

Arslan no longer felt guilty over saying it would be difficult to trust Rumpole implicitly for some time.

“...You know how to bring out the best in your students,” she translated. “And thus, how to bring out the _worst_ in your students.”

Rumpole smiled sadly. “Not always the worst, Arslan. Why do you think I sicced Nebula on Velvet, that first day? You were always going to defend her. You would have done it whether she was your teammate or not.”

It was true, so Arslan didn’t argue the point; her hackles were still up, but she refused to get defensive over a statement of fact. “Yes.”

“Octavia Ember formed the beginnings of a friendship with Velvet after ten minutes of terse, barely-civil one-on-one interaction,” said Rumpole. “I couldn’t risk your reaching a truce with Nebula; so I gave you someone to protect from her.”

“Which ensured she never stopped resenting me and that I would never find anything worthwhile in her.” The words tasted sour, an admission of guilt she didn’t feel.

She did not expect Rumpole’s response.

“And prevented you from forming a true bond with Velvet,” she said quietly. “And thus, making peace with Octavia through her—whose respect would not have been worthless to her leader.”

Arslan uncrossed her arms, shifting her weight forward. “I’m sorry?”

“Your protectiveness befits a Huntress,” said Rumpole. “Separated from your team, the only outlet for that protectiveness was Velvet—who has spent _years_ struggling to be taken seriously, suffers from chronic insecurity over her place in her team and intense frustration at being continually underestimated, and whose torment by Miss Violette consistently centered around being viewed as weak. A perception strengthened by the way the other outsider on the team leapt to her defense at the slightest provocation.”

Arslan was speechless.

Rumpole’s expression was close to pity. “What were you meant to do, let that kind of cruelty stand? You were used. This isn’t a _debriefing,_ Miss Altan. This is an apology.”

After a long moment, Arslan—wrong-footed for the first time—found her voice. “I could have let Velvet fight her own battles.”

“It wouldn’t have helped,” said Rumpole with quiet, immediate, grim certainty. “It would only have reinforced to Miss Scarlatina that even you, a fellow Beacon survivor who knows what she is capable of, whom she trusts implicitly, did not believe her a worthwhile teammate—not even enough to protest her being misused. There were no good choices.”

Arslan closed her eyes, and let the world turn blood-red and slow through her eyelids. Rumpole, she knew, would be there when she opened them. 

She was not the kind of woman who ran away from her mistakes.

A breeze ruffled her hair. It smelled like heat; like baked stone and sand, and the desert sun.

* * *

Nebula groaned and flopped back onto her bed, rubbing her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Gwen kindly. “Your life sucks.”

“Move,” added Dew, nudging Nebula to sit up while she slipped onto the bed. The moment she was settled, Nebula dropped her head back onto Dew’s thigh. “At least _you_ have Octavia.”

Octavia waved at them from where she was sitting cross-legged in her own bed, polishing carefully around the Fire dust in her blade. “We miss you guys,” she sighed.

“You have _no_ idea,” said Gwen. “All my teammates are guys now and I’m gonna die.”

“I’ll send flowers to your funeral,” promised Octavia.

“You’re a true friend.”

Dew rolled her eyes, running her fingers through Nebula’s hair. “Thank the gods Theodore at least had the common sense to keep you as a team leader. If you had to take _orders_ from Altan on top of everything else…”

“Ugh,” said Nebula with her eyes closed. “Don’t even _say_ that.”

“You’d _probably_ handle it about as well as Arslan is,” said Octavia with an amused look on her face. “Every time you give an order she looks like she’s about to swallow her tongue.”

“I can take orders,” Nebula argued. Without looking, she added “Quit smirking, Dew,” as an aside and continued. “What’s getting on my _last_ nerve is some Haven brat who’s not even _trying_ to hide that we’re her last choice and she’s only here because she thinks she’s too good to wait for her own program to reopen, acting like—ugh! I don’t even know!”

“Like not being in charge anymore’s an affront to her dignity,” supplied Dew, disdain dripping from the words. “As if this isn’t all _their_ fault in the first place.”

Nebula clenched her jaw. Across the room, Octavia jerked a whetstone across a curve so hard she threw sparks into the air but didn’t say anything.

Dew was right, and that was the core of it. The Beacon and Haven castoffs had shown up like they were somehow doing Shade a favor, like they were automatically qualified— _assuming_ they’d be taken in because they’d been accepted at other Academies, with different focuses, different requirements. So now Shade was overcrowded and undersupplied, _for some reason,_ and all the “transfer” students were walking around bouncing off the walls like baby chickens because they didn’t know how anything worked here—then _complaining_ when Vacuo was, what, hot and sandy?

And now Arslan was sulking because she’d been put on a team with two Vacuo natives who could finally show her the ropes—education through immersion—and Velvet was acting like a kicked puppy because she missed her friends.

As if Nebula and Octavia _didn’t._ As if she wouldn’t give her left arm to have NDGO back, as if it hadn’t been weeks since they were able to even wrangle this much—an hour to sit in their old dorm together and just exist. So Velvet didn’t get to tinker next to her roommates anymore, so fucking what. Nebula hadn’t spoken more than a few sentences to her girlfriend in a month.

“If they hadn’t been so stubborn about wanting to keep doing things their way we wouldn’t be in this mess,” agreed Gwen.

“They could stand to shut up about how much they hate it here,” Nebula agreed. “Nobody put a gun to their heads, you know? Leave. If you hate it so much then leave, and if you don’t _want_ to leave, then maybe it’s not so bad after all and you should stop insulting it to our face.”

Dew snorted. “Are yours still whining about the new teams too?”

Gwen raised her hand, a long-suffering expression on her face.

Octavia sighed. “I get that they miss each other. And _they_ hate the whole Reinitiation thing too, so I know it’s not really fair to blame them for it, it’s not like they asked for this. It’s just hard to remember that sometimes.”

Nebula heaved a sigh. “Yeah, yeah.” She squirmed slightly, cracking her back. “Half the time I remember that we’re all miserable and ignore them, but I swear the next time Velvet gets teary over a scan of Daichi’s sword…”

 _...I’ll_ give _her something to cry about,_ was the end of that sentence, honestly, but Nebula didn’t really want to finish it. NOVA was frustrating in general and being saddled with a _freeloader_ when she’d once led the dominant Academy team pissed her off, but there was a line. 

The fact that Adel and Arslan had been so quick to assume Nebula was the kind of person to beat on a helpless kid like Velvet had been insulting enough that she’d almost considered doing it after all. But the fact that Professor Rumpole, who’d taught her since her first day, had honestly seemed to think she’d _go through with it_ —that had freaked her out a little. She wanted Velvet _gone,_ not…

Whatever. This was NDGO, they’d know she didn’t really _mean_ it, but now she’d wasted time overthinking it anyway and the conversation had moved on.

“Yeah, I know.” Dew shrugged. “But I don’t care much. Since the whole reason this stupid ‘Reinitiation’ even happened was to coddle _their_ tender feelings over not adjusting fast enough when they didn’t even _try,_ they’ve got some gall complaining about it to _us.”_

Nebula nodded vaguely in agreement. “Not that that’s stopping Arslan, obviously. She’s nothing _but_ gall. You think I could stick her and Velvet in a blender and make, like, a tolerable person?”

Dew stroked her hair comfortingly. “Well, I’ve got Umber, at least. So I’ve got someone to vent to. I’m _this close_ to fragging Alistair, but at least he’s _Vacuo.”_

Nebula made a quiet noise in her throat. “That’s good. And at least Nolan _can_ fight, even if he’s...well.”

“You can call him a coward,” Gwen said bluntly. “It’s just us.”

 _“Altan_ can fight,” Gwen pointed out. “It sucks that you got Scarlatina dumped on you, though. How’s she reacting to a team that doesn’t think she’s cute enough to carry her all the time?”

Nebula shrugged. “She hasn’t died yet. Mostly because I’m not putting her in danger if I don’t have to. I _joke_ about feeding Arslan to a Blind Worm but like, they’re still my responsibility.”

Dew had the grace to wince. “Obviously. I’d never _actually_ let anything happen to them, it’s just—frustrating.” 

“Yeah.” Nebula sighed. “I could really use a four-woman band back, we’re hurting out there. I’m trying not to get too worked up and just...hope things go back to normal soon. Ignore them as much as I can until I get my girls back. _If_ that ever happens.”

“We miss you too.” Dew ran a thumb down her jaw. “What _are_ you doing with her, though? You can’t just leave her behind all the time, can you?”

Gwen piped up, “Seriously, can we do that? Is that an option, because I would love to ditch some of these people.”

Nebula laughed. “I mean, mostly, yeah. She doesn’t even have a ranged weapon so I stick her on lookout. That has to be what CFVY did, and honestly I don’t know how Adel can stand it. She doesn’t seem like the type to tolerate dead weight.”

Dew smirked down at her. _“Doesn’t she?_ She just about walked into a pillar when Altan was stretching in the courtyard their first week at Shade. I can’t think of any _other_ reason to put up with a teammate being useless in the field.”

“She’s some kind of wilderness scout, I think,” Octavia piped up. “That’s what it seemed like when I worked with her, anyway. I wonder what her Semblance is.”

“Photographic memory,” Nebula supplied, remembering it from the CFVY team round color commentary. “So, yeah, that tracks if she’s a scout.”

“Explains the camera,” allowed Dew.

“Still, that’s _stupid_ cocky to let her get away with specializing that hard, even in Vale,” Nebula agreed. “I might have to make her start carrying a gun, at least. She needs to be able to adapt, like...at all. Who ever heard of a _non-combat_ Huntress? I don’t care how good a scout she is if she can’t do anything else. What was Adel thinking, just letting that slide? It’s not doing _Velvet_ any good in the long run, that’s for sure.”

“I didn’t think she was _that_ easy to distract with a pretty face,” grinned Gwen. “It does explain how they got taken out so fast in the doubles, though.”

Nebula gave a dramatic wince. “Ouch! Don’t bring up Vytal Festival losses.”

“Oh, that was a fluke!”

_“We agreed never to talk about that!”_

“All right, all right,” Gwen laughed, holding up her hands. “It’s not Coco Adel’s fault that her opponent was an undercover terrorist if it’s not our fault we got taken out by the embarrassing half of SSSN.”

“Deal,” said Dew.

“That’s fair,” said Nebula. “If you ever mention that fight again you’re dead to me, though.”

“Also fair,” Gwen allowed. “So what do your schedules look like? We need to do this more often, I didn’t realize how much I missed you, and that’s saying something.”

Dew’s fingers tightened in Nebula’s hair. Nebula reached up and put a hand on her hip, returning the gentle squeeze.

“...Yeah,” she breathed. “Yeah, no, I get it. I think I have an afternoon free next week—”

The door didn’t fly open; it was just opened, firmly and without hesitation.

The four of them looked around, Gwen standing from where she’d been perched on the edge of Octavia’s bed to transfer further into the room, near Nebula’s feet.

“Are we interrupting?” Arslan asked, voice cold and even, hand resting on a miserable-looking Velvet’s shoulder.

Nebula suppressed another groan as she wondered how good Velvet’s hearing was and how long she’d been standing out there. Whatever. She needed to hear it, anyway. Maybe it’d be a good wake-up call.

“I mean, kind of, yeah,” said Nebula.

“We live here,” returned Arslan.

“Well,” said Dew. “There’s your first problem. If only you had somewhere else to be that you liked more.”

Velvet shot her a surprisingly steely glare. “Well, we _don’t,”_ she snapped; Octavia visibly startled. “I’m grabbing my Grimm notes.”

“We’re going to study,” Arslan informed them all with knife-edged courtesy. “We’ll do our best not to disturb you.”

Nebula considered snapping that she was perfectly allowed to have her friends over in her own dorm room, but frankly it wasn’t worth it. Arslan clearly wanted a fight, and there was a kind of satisfaction in not giving her one.

“Knock yourselves out,” she said, and no one said more than a few tense words at a time for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

* * *

Something in Nebula’s gut twisted unpleasantly, but she tried not to show it.

“...I’ll be in touch,” she told Adel. “We’ll figure out a time.” To Professor Rumpole, straightening her spine slightly and keeping her voice as normal as she could manage, she said, “Right behind you.”

She thought she heard Adel murmur “Good luck,” but it sounded too quietly sincere, so she figured she’d imagined it.

Rumpole took them on a long walk up several flights of stairs, finally stopping in a secluded northeastern corner with a shitty view, the window half-blocked by awning mechanics. Technically it was a study nook, but nobody ever used it because there were so many nicer ones scattered around the school.

Rumpole folded her arms on the windowsill, looking out over the desert—into the northeast, toward Vale and Mistral. Subtle.

Feeling a ball of lead in her stomach, Nebula put her feet shoulder-width apart, folded her arms behind her back, lifted her chin, and waited.

For the first time in history, Rumpole took pity on her.

“I think we can both assume you know why we’re here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And why is that, then.”

“Team NOVA,” Nebula answered, carefully neutral. “And the reason it was a disaster.”

Rumpole lifted an eyebrow. “Only one reason?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Which is?”

“Me.”

She managed to keep any emotion out of the word. It was true, after all. They both knew it.

“Tell me why you think that. There were four people on that team, Nebula. I _know_ you realize only one of them was glad to have you as a leader. So why take all the blame yourself?”

“Team leaders are responsible for making sure the group functions,” Nebula recited. “And I didn’t. Because I was acting like a xenophobic asshole, Professor.”

Rumpole gave a long, shaky sigh.

“You’ve thought about this.”

Nearly every minute of every day since they’d realized what the Crown truly was, and how long Rumpole herself had been under its influence, and what their goals were. And how hard they’d fallen for it.

“You designed the Reinitiation teams to widen divides, did you?” she asked. It was a pretty safe bet, and Rumpole inclined her head. “And you put me in charge of NOVA. You knew I’d been swallowing the Crown propaganda—” 

No, that was wrong. The timeline was off. NDGO knew they’d...become people they didn’t like, recently, that they’d been perfectly friendly with outsiders before, in the past; but not even Rumpole could build on foundations of bigotry that weren’t already there. 

“You knew I’d been swallowing propaganda for a long time. Looking down on outsiders, shittalking any customs that don’t match Vacuo’s. Taking pride too far. You knew you could count on me to be a monster.”

Rumpole considered her for a long moment.

“As it happens,” she said, “I wasn’t _nearly_ so confident as you are. Nebula, you are—at most—only half of what drove NOVA to the brink the way it was. I _designed_ it to be a powderkeg.”

“I cooperated.”

“Not nearly as well as I had hoped. I had to go out of my way to destroy any chance that you might actually _speak_ to Miss Scarlatina, or Miss Altan. I knew that if I failed to sabotage that relationship beyond repair from day one, you would do your duty as a team leader—reluctantly, yes, resentfully, yes, but you would do it—and the moment you tried at all to make that team work, you _would_ see each other as people, and you would be lost to me.”

She was wrong, but Nebula didn’t have the heart to tell her.

Rumpole saw the disagreement in her eyes all the same, and crossed her arms.

“Don’t misunderstand me, Miss Violette,” she said. “You _should_ feel shame. But I am your teacher, and I put you in this position. I want to make certain that the lesson you learn from this is the right one.”

That was more like it. Nebula nodded, deliberately forcing her shoulders to relax. “I know. I understand, Professor. We all do. Whatever the consequences are, we deserve them.” She hesitated. “Maybe—maybe not Octavia. She was...better than the rest of us.”

“She told you to stop?” Rumpole asked, voice mild, and Nebula winced.

“...No, ma’am.”

“Mmm.” Rumpole uncrossed her arms, shaking her head. “This would be much easier for you if I doled out a punishment for Team NDGO, let you demonstrate your remorse by submitting to it without complaint, and dismissed you to stew in your disgrace, wouldn’t it?”

“...Um,” said Nebula, who suddenly felt like the honest answer, which was _yes, please,_ wasn’t the right one.

Rumpole at least had something like a fond twinkle in her eye. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Miss Violette. Were you under the impression that the lesson I pulled you out of class to teach is ‘your actions were wrong’? You know that, and learned it more thoroughly than I could ever hope to teach.”

Nebula’s neck and ears felt hot; but she’d earned a good chewing-out, and she was determined to take it.

“Sit down,” said Rumpole. Stiff and very reluctant, Nebula dropped onto one of the uncomfortable bench-style sofas in the study nook. Rumpole joined her, sitting down across the table. “Nebula, what I need to be sure you’ve learned is how you were manipulated, and why, so that _when_ someone tries to do so again you will _recognize_ it. NOVA is a microcosm, but it is a place to start.”

Nebula gave a jerky nod. “I think I know some of it,” she offered. “The Reinitiation, I mean.”

Rumpole gestured, giving her the floor.

“Right before you announced it you mentioned a lot of things we’d been complaining about for months—um. Not _you,_ but—”

“I know what you mean,” said Rumpole. “If you try to spare my feelings we’ll be here all day. And yes; as the one who wrote that speech, I can tell you that I cited overcrowding, excessive strain on class sizes, the culture shock from traumatized newcomers, and unsubtly implied that those newcomers were inherently weaker and unable to survive in Vacuo.”

Nebula had missed that last one, but she believed it. “Right. You said the Reinitiation was because of the...transfers, and we...believed you. Even though that’s stupid, because the last thing _they_ wanted was to lose the only people who didn’t treat them like shit. Half of them were panicking.”

“But I’d spent weeks adding fuel to the fire of anti-outKingdom sentiment that already existed,” Rumpole said, and suddenly Nebula recognized that careful tone, the lack of emotion. She wasn’t the only one choking on shame, just the only one who’d actually earned it. “So, naturally, you saw what I wanted you to see.”

“And then—I know _you_ got me to fight Velvet on purpose,” Nebula said in a rush. “But I _wanted_ to, I was so pissed at losing my team and I hated her for being—”

Weak, unskilled, dead weight, a tinkerer and not a Huntress, all things she’d said out loud a million times, gods, she’d been so _stupid._ She hadn’t even _asked._ She’d never seen Velvet’s weapon in action, CFVY never deployed her as anything but backup, so she’d just assumed…

Of course, CFVY _wouldn’t_ set Velvet loose in training, would they? You didn’t pull out _firebombs_ to deal with mice in the attic.

Especially not in front of people who’d given you every reason to view them as a threat. Nebula didn’t even bother indulging in irrational irritation that Velvet hadn’t just _said something,_ defended herself from all those snide comments. She shouldn’t have had to, because Nebula should have asked; but even outside of that. If you had a secret weapon, you didn’t tell your enemies about it.

“Yes,” said Rumpole. “I thought you might. You can draw conclusions about the team makeup, I assume.”

Nebula resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands solely because she hadn’t earned it.

“Arslan’s a natural leader,” she recited. “You put Velvet in my power because you knew I’d abuse it to hurt her, you put Arslan on my team because she’s—a better leader than me and she knows it, so we’d constantly be fighting. And then every time she defended Velvet it made me resent them both more, so I picked on Velvet, so Arslan came back at me…Professor?”

“Miss Violette.”

“Why Octavia? We can’t figure out why you left half of NDGO intact.”

“Other than as a constant reminder of what you’d lost?” responded Rumpole. “I didn’t want you outnumbered by transplants. NOVA was my masterstroke, and I needed you comfortable at your worst for it to shatter at the right moment. I needed you to have a fellow Shade native—and a former teammate, which ensured her primary loyalty would be to you and you would behave normally around her. Thus, Octavia.”

“It was just a coincidence that it was her and not Gwen?”

Rumpole shrugged. “Only in that I could easily justify it once she and Miss Scarlatina formed a truce in the desert. I had hoped to capitalize on resentment for Octavia being forced to save her, being forced to share credit for the trinket capture; or else eventually drive a wedge between you by taking advantage of that tentative friendship. But what mattered most was that a member of NDGO be on hand.”

That made Nebula’s skin crawl unpleasantly. Had it really been _that_ easy? “Right. And then you must have known I’d still be talking to Dew as much as I could. Obviously.”

They’d _kind_ of been the Shade Academy power couple since halfway through first year, was the thing. Obviously she’d still been spending time with her girlfriend, so…

Rumpole made a pained expression.

“Ah,” she said. “I _did_ wonder whether you’d figured that out.”

“FNDU,” said Nebula, dutifully detached. “Two outsiders we were finding excuses to see as weak, and a Crown plant who’s always been a top Shade student. She went from dating her team leader to taking orders from a blind guy who...I mean, abandoned Vacuo, that’s how we saw it. Nolan’s everyone’s worst nightmare, losing your team, so obviously she couldn’t try to _connect_ with him. If the reason he’s the only one left is that it’s his fault then it... can’t happen to us.”

(If Nolan was _wrong,_ if the loss of BRNZ was because Beacon really had been untenable, then it wasn’t NDGO’s fault for not being there—)

“Now _that_ surprises me.” Rumpole’s voice was steady. “You really _have_ put a great deal of thought into this.”

Nebula didn’t quite manage not to flinch.

“You were targeting Dew,” she said.

Dew was...terrified, honestly. By how easy it had been, by how quickly she’d fallen in with the likes of Umber Gorgoneion. How _relatable_ the willing Crown collaborator had been, how funny she’d found her. Nebula had started to like Umber secondhand just from the rush of petty satisfaction her barbed comments and sidelong insults—reported in late-night venting texts with Dew—brought with them. Confirmation that they weren’t the bad guys, that _everyone_ felt this way. 

It took a lot to make your blood run cold in the desert. But remembering how much vicious enjoyment they’d gotten out of tossing Crown talking points back and forth…

“I placed her on a team with two outsiders and a very persuasive recruiter,” Rumpole confirmed softly. “In time she was meant to join willingly, though it didn’t matter much either way; she would have brought you in as well. You would have arranged the capture of Arslan and Velvet for us. And Octavia, if she didn’t turn when you did.”

“I wouldn’t have turned on _Octavia,”_ protested Nebula, which was the stupidest thing she’d ever said in her life. Rumpole didn’t bother correcting her; she just let her marinate in the understanding of exactly how wrong she was.

And the secondary realization that she had been, in the end, just a stepping stone to the capture of better fighters. That should have hurt her pride more than it did.

“Overall,” said Rumpole, “an excellent summary. So tell me. Why is it that NOVA failed?”

Nebula frowned. “I thought I just…”

“NOVA was my attempt at a time bomb,” Rumpole reminded her. “Thus far you’ve done an excellent job of laying out everything I did _right_ in its construction. I wonder if you can identify the factor that guaranteed it would fail.”

Nebula hesitated before finally venturing a guess. “...Arslan?”

“Performed her role exactly as planned.”

“Octavia accidentally making friends with Velvet, then. Or the timeline change messed it up.”

Rumpole’s response was like a door in the face.

“You.”

Nebula stared at her, which she thought was a fair reaction.

“I am _absolving_ you of nothing,” Rumpole warned. “But Nebula, you will learn this lesson or I will die trying. What saved us all is that I overestimated the degree to which I could make you hate. I could not manipulate you into outright sadism; I could not goad you into harming an opponent who had surrendered. I could not drive you to intentionally place Velvet in harm’s way, or sabotage Arslan. Umber was never able to make a true play on Miss Gayl so long as she had you in her life, steadily holding a line that was _very far past_ the limits of the honor and compassion expected of a Huntress, but which nevertheless you would not cross. I could influence you to _cruelty,_ but never evil.”

“That’s a low bar,” Nebula protested.

“Yes.” Rumpole’s gaze was firm. “Make it higher. I don’t want you to be punished, Miss Violette. I want you to be the woman you are capable of becoming.”

Nebula swallowed around the hard lump in her throat. “I...yes, ma’am.”

“Go back to your team,” Rumpole ordered. “Be better this time. Remember who you are, and why you’re here. Why _all_ of you are here.”

This time she couldn’t manage a response; she nodded sharply as she stood, and hoped that would be enough.

“Next Wednesday, between lunch and dinner,” Rumpole added as Nebula reached the top of the stairs.

She turned. “What? Sorry?”

“Next Wednesday,” Rumpole repeated, patient. “Between lunch and dinner. NDGO and CFVY share a free-train block with ABRN on that day. I can rearrange SSSNN’s schedule to free them up as well; the numbers advantage will help make it a more even fight, and they’re more competent in the field than you might expect. Contact the other leaders, Miss Violette, and take Coco Adel up on her 8v8 proposal. Well, 8v9.” She held out a slip of paper with several unfamiliar numbers written on it. “Practice being on the same side.”

Hesitant, Nebula took the list of names and numbers. For a few moments, she held it in her hand.

She sighed, tucked the paper into her jacket, and said, “We always were.”

**Author's Note:**

> On god, there will be no nonsense in this comment section.
> 
> This is NOT a "fix-it" or some kind of "what canon should have done" thing. I ADORED the way all of this was, in fact, explicitly set up in the canon; this is an exploration, expansion, and analysis of things that were not only present but incredibly unsubtle in the book. Backhanded compliments are not appreciated.
> 
> This was supposed to be a FUN SERIES OF VIGNETTES FEATURING VELVET GETTING SOME OF HER OWN BACK but NOOOOO all these kids have TRAUMA and some of them were RADICALIZED and TRAUMATIZED BY THAT TOO and it's DEPRESSING now.


End file.
